


ello, is it me you're looking for?

by Odyle



Category: Selfie (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odyle/pseuds/Odyle





	ello, is it me you're looking for?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/gifts).



**8:00 pm**

Henry had been trying to get a reservation for weeks, but somehow Eliza was able to get one with only a few days' notice. He’d mentioned it offhand to her and had been stunned when she invited him to the restaurant just a day later. 

“How?” he’d asked her. 

“It wasn’t that hard,” Eliza said. 

It was that hard. He’d stooped to bribery in an attempt to get a reservation, but it hadn’t done him any good. Who knew what kind of evil Eliza had participated in to get her reservations. 

She’d been acting strangely since they’d met in front of the restaurant. For some reason, she wouldn’t look directly at him, at least not when he was looking at her. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact they were seated across from each other at a shared table with strangers. If Eliza wasn’t looking at him, she was staring at the ceiling, table, or the guy to his left. 

“Eliza, is something going on?” 

“No, nothing. We’re just having a good time, eating ham with weird stuff on it and drinking red wine,” Eliza said. 

“You don’t seem like you’re having a good time.” 

“No, I’m having a great time. Everything is totally fine and I’m having a great time.” 

“Wait,” Henry said. “Is this a date?” 

“No,” Eliza said, shielding her face with the menu. 

 

 

**10:00 pm**

Stepping into the bar had been like stepping back in time. It reminded Henry of the hotel bars in classic films. He almost expected to see Cary Grant seated at the bar. Everyone was dressed for the occasion, the lights were low, and the tinkling of a piano somewhere just barely cut through the low din of conversation. He’d expected dinner to be the end of the evening, but after a long and drawn out meal where Eliza held her phone in one hand a utensil in the other, she’d suggested that they go to a bar she knew for a digestif. 

They went to the bar and ordered their cocktails. Henry had been distracted by the stunning array of bitters they had in stock, leading Eliza to order him a mint julep. She paid for their drinks, and they settled in a booth along the wall. 

“How did you find this place?” Henry asked. 

“Oh, you know,” she said with a shrug. “I just happened to stop by one day.” 

“You just happen to come by? We had to go down an alleyway and give the doorman a secret code to get in here. “

“They started keeping things on the DL because it was getting too popular.” 

Henry glared at her. 

Eliza rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to do something nice and classy for my birthday.”

“Wait, it’s your birthday?” Henry asked. “Why didn’t you mention this?” 

Eliza stooped over her lemon drop martini, drawing it closer to herself and avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Why are we doing things I enjoy? This is your birthday. Why don’t we do things you enjoy?” 

“Are you saying that I’m not sophisticated enough to enjoy fusion food, hipster drinks, and biters?” she asked. 

“Bitters, Eliza. I’m saying we’re doing these things because I enjoy them. C’mon, let’s go.” 

He held out his hand to her. 

Eliza stared at it, as though she didn’t know quite what to make of it. 

“Eliza Dooley,” Henry said. “Come with me now if you want to have fun.” 

 

 

**11:00 pm**

The music thumped so loudly that he could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. It was hot in the club. Henry wished he’d abandoned his jacket and tie in the car when he’d had the chance, but he was too self-conscious to stop and take it off. He suffered through it by barely dancing with her, which seemed to be all that she required of him. 

They didn’t have much choice except to dance close, though Eliza’s grinding was not strictly necessary. She moved in time with the music, pressing her body against his. Wrapping his arms around her to prevent her from knocking into other people on the floor might have only encouraged her. 

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying it. He was thoroughly enjoying the attention in a way that he might not have allowed himself if he hadn’t had that mint julep at the bar. It was inappropriate. Given their conversation about the nature of this outing over dinner, it was probably confusing to Eliza. But if Eliza wanted to spend her evening grinding on him, he would oblige. It was her birthday, after all. 

One song melded into another, shepherded by a DJ he could see occasionally bouncing on the stage above the dancefloor. The songs were all fast with a bass that rattled his bones. Henry was beginning to wonder how long Eliza could dance when she turned around to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Eliza?” Henry shouted over the music. There was something going on in the expression on her face, but he couldn’t see well enough in to low light to read it. 

A moment later, she was kissing him. It was desperate and clumsy. Their noses mashed together until Henry tilted his head to the side. He could taste her lipstick and then the lemon and vodka on her breath, and he found he didn’t mind the heat or the crowd or Eliza’s ridiculous fake nails scratching him as she grabbed his hair. 

Eliza pulled away from the kiss, breathless. 

“I don’t feel so good,” she mumbled, and then she vomited on him. 

 

 

**1:00 am**

Eliza was a pitiful sight, curled up on his couch with the kitchen trash can beside her head. She’d taken a shower to get the vomit out of her hair while Henry did his best to clean off a dress that was more rhinestones than fabric. After that, she'd put on the undershirt and boxers he'd given her to wear and let him deposit her on the couch with some old western playing on the TV.

“I brought you ginger ale and gatorade,” Henry said as he set the bottles down on the side table, well within Eliza’s groping distance on the couch. 

“What flavor of Gatorade?” Eliza asked from her cocoon of blankets.

“Purple.” 

A hand emerged from the cocoon. She brought the Gatorade bottle to her lips and took a few sips before she set it back down and slumped over again. 

“Can I get you anything?” Henry asked.

“Henry, will you hold my hand?” 

There wasn’t really room to sit on the couch, and there was no space to drag another chair closer. Henry sighed and took a seat on the living room floor, next to the trash can. One of Eliza’s well-manicured hands appeared from the folds of her cocoon, and he took it in his own. 

“I’m sorry your birthday has been so… unfortunate.” 

“Pshhhh… This isn’t that bad. We didn’t even have to go to the ER.” 

“What kind of birthdays end at the ER?” 

“Besides, I get to spend time with you.”

Henry sighed. Her hand was clammy in his. He’d wanted to put her to bed immediately after they got to his house, but Eliza had insisted that she wasn’t tired, and besides, he didn’t have a TV in his bedroom. 

“We can spend time together other times.” 

“But we don’t,” Eliza said. 

“Well, we can make it a priority.” 

“But I feel like the stuff I want to do is lame and you’ll judge me for it.” 

It was true that he often didn’t see the appeal of things Eliza wanted to do. Bar hopping, taking selfies, and brunch all seemed like foreign concepts, although he had to concede that grinding at a club probably would have made the list a few hours before, and he’d been converted on that account. 

“Eliza, did you want to go with me to the modernist adaption of Turandot?” Henry asked. 

“Hell, no.” 

“But you went anyway. Maybe I don’t want to do the same things as you, but if they’re important to you, I’ll go. I like spending time with you,” Henry said. 

“I like spending time with you, too,” Eliza said, before leaning forward to heave into the trashcan. 

Henry reached over to pull her hair back, keeping it out of harm’s way. 

“Thanks,” Eliza said.


End file.
